A Walk from London to John O'Groat's With Notes by the Way — Story, Setting & Ideas

Whitewash as Historical Preservation

In a lengthy digression on Huntingdon, Burritt defends the practice of whitewashing over medieval art. He claims that "the whitewash swab has slain its ten thousands of innocents" by obscuring tapestries and carvings, yet he also argues that this same whitewash saved artworks from destruction during periods of iconoclasm. He imagines Cowper writing unaware of "a crowd of kings, queens, and other great personages" hidden beneath lime. This paradox—whitewash as both vandal and preserver—is a recurring theme. Burritt notes that England is "just beginning to learn what treasures of art in old mansions, churches and cathedrals were saved" by this method. The passage exemplifies his tendency to moralize about material culture while grounding his observations in specific, tangible details.

The Agricultural Lens

Despite the catalog's broad geographic subject, the excerpts show Burritt's primary interest in farming. Chapter titles reference visits to large farms, discussions of steam power, under-draining, deep tillage, and irrigation. He compares capital investment in English and American agriculture, and describes a "Three-Thousand-Acre Farm" managed by Samuel Jonas. The book's subtitle, "with notes by the way," signals that agricultural commentary is the core, not the scenery. Burritt's observations are precise: he notes barley grown on oats, the use of threshing machines, and the condition of agricultural laborers. His perspective is that of a reformer, interested in efficiency and improvement, yet he also records the human cost of rural change.

Cromwell's School Bench and the Limits of Inference

Burritt describes the schoolhouse in Huntingdon where Oliver Cromwell learned to read, noting that "the very form or bench of oak from which he mounted the breach is still occupied by boys of the same size and age." He speculates on what a photograph of young Cromwell would reveal, and imagines a seer giving him a glimpse of his future. This anecdote is characteristic of Burritt's method: he uses a physical object—a bench—to anchor a historical meditation. However, the excerpts do not reveal whether Burritt actually saw this bench or relied on local testimony. The passage illustrates the book's blend of travel, history, and moral reflection, but also its reliance on secondhand stories. Readers should treat such claims as period color rather than verified fact.

Burritt's walk is a frame for his real subject: the state of England as seen through its fields, farms, and historical remnants. Readers interested in mid-Victorian agricultural reform or the preservation of medieval art will find detailed, opinionated commentary. Those seeking a straightforward travel narrative may be surprised by the density of statistical and historical asides. The book rewards selective reading—dip into chapters on specific farms or towns, and skip the more digressive passages.

Elihu Burritt’s walk felt like sitting beside someone who noticed every hedge and harvest, yet never hurried past the ruins. That unhurried attention stayed with me long after closing the book. Something in Three Years in Europe: Places I Have Seen and People I Have Met — Reading Companion reminded me of that same gentle way of seeing, as if places were old friends worth remembering slowly.